I saw it hit him—pure, clean shock.
His eyes narrowed, irritated.
Then he barked a mocking laugh.
The doctor stepped closer, voice smooth and mild.
"So. How are we feeling?"
He bent as if making a house call, nudging the admin aside.
He pinched the tip of my nose, thoughtful.
"Good. It's set."
Pain flared.
My face tightened.
When he let go, I blinked through the weakness.
It wasn't just my nose—everything hurt.
Especially the places where my nails used to be.
"What?" he said. "Don't tell me you're mad at us."
I bared my teeth in something like a smile, then sagged back against the damp, cold wall.
"Mad? No. Honestly, I didn't expect such excellent hospitality. This place is basically a hotel."
A flame lit in his eyes.
I watched the spark of anger catch.
Patrick—the admin—jerked forward, fists balled, ready to kick me—
But the doctor stopped him with practiced calm.
Then he tipped toward me again, curious and composed.
"Tell me, Viona—ever owned something that depended on you?"
So he had my real name.
Of course he did.
I'd told them who I was.
Not exactly a challenge.
"No," I said, eyes locked on his.
"But it looks like you do."
I turned my head with a smile and pinned Patrick with it.
He flinched, flushing.
The doctor's grin went sharp.
"I do. And I've got another one, too. Her name's Lucie."
The headache, the thirst, and his voice—all of it pushed at the edge of my patience.
"Strange," I said.
"Someone like you having a pet. Usually kind people take care of animals."
I tilted my head, sweet as poison.
"So there is something you're attached to. Hm?"
He straightened, fastened his top button with careful fingers.
"That's actually my question, Viona. How is it you have no one?"
He paced the width of the cell in neat, measured steps.
"I dug deep. But the little blue-haired jellyfish has always been alone."
He flicked a look at my hair, thoughtful.
"Oh, right—I found your old photos. Blue suits you better. Did you dye it black for us? Shame."
I pressed my lips together and stared.
He kept pacing.
"No father. No mother. Not even a friend or a boyfriend.
Not even a pet.
No one and nothing that matters to you."
He stopped. Smiled.
"Which means… you don't have a weak spot."
He turned toward me, eyes narrowing.
"You know what would've been perfect? Finding your parents. Making you talk… while I carved them apart in front of you. But I came up empty."
I shrugged through the ache, careless.
"I searched for ten years. Don't bother—you won't find them."
He nodded, unruffled.
Then he faced me again, dragging his knuckles along his jaw. Thinking.
"There has to be something. Doesn't there?"
I smiled—a shape carved from pain only I remembered.
"I had a weak spot," I growled, hate thick in my voice.
"You erased it a long time ago."
His eyes thinned, waiting.
The admin sneered at the doctor.
"She means Steven—the little spy she shot herself."
Hearing that name in his mouth made me sick.
Heat surged in my veins.
I curled my hands into fists.
"No. You killed him."
The doctor leaned in, wearing a strange, satisfied smile.
"Ahhh. Steven. Now I remember…"
He paused. Then, crisp:
"But you killed him."
"Because you forced me to," I snapped, leaning toward him.
He laughed, tilting his head, then dipped close enough to whisper against my face:
"Then Steven wasn't your weak spot. Ashur was."
I stared, stunned.
My heart battered my ribs.
Sweat slicked my temples.
There was a knowing in his eyes—sharp, surgical—that hurt to look at.
"Interesting," he said, baring his teeth.
"So you managed to kill someone you cared about, right in front of us?
That much control over your feelings?
All just to get to Ashur?"
I hadn't thought it would come to this.
Not good.
Ashur wasn't just a weak spot.
He was the weak spot.
And now the doctor had him.
I tore my gaze up to his and pushed off the wall.
"I've got more control than you can count, you bastard."
He burst into laughter—loud, unhinged.
His hand settled on my shoulder as the laughter thinned.
Still watching me, he said to Patrick:
"Take her to the Hell Floor."
He straightened and walked out of the cell.
Patrick's mocking look said it all.
This wasn't pain anymore.
This was punishment.